Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [101]
There was simply no way we could remain. In short order Holmes and I found ourselves in the hallway, the sturdy door closed behind us.
I started for the stairs. Holmes’ hand fell on my shoulder, stopping me. With a nod of his head, Holmes indicated we should proceed in the opposite direction. I followed as Holmes walked to the flat next to Willingham’s. He tapped lightly on the door and, receiving no answer, pulled a familiar, but illegal, set of tools from his pocket.
“Holmes!” I protested as my friend made short work of the door’s lock.
“The apartment is vacant,” Holmes explained as he stepped into the dark room beyond. “You did not notice the ‘Room to Let’ sign downstairs? Come, it serves our purpose to remain close to Mr. Willingham. If he is attacked, as he obviously expects to be, it would be best if we remain near enough to render assistance.”
As Holmes predicted, the flat was empty of occupants and furniture. Striding across the empty room Holmes walked up to the tall window, opened it and leaned out. Satisfied with what he saw he pulled himself back in. “Nothing unusual on the street or dangling from Mr. Willingham’s window. This flat is empty, leaving the hallway as the only avenue of attack. Unless this killer flits about on angel’s wings.”
Miss Drayson, I recalled, had insisted her wings were nothing like those of an angel. Refusing to be baited, I asked, “What was all that business in Willingham’s? Who did he think we were?”
“Oh yes,” Holmes replied, amused. Opening the door to the hallway fractionally the detective placed a small mirror against the doorframe so he could watch the comings and goings in the hallway unobserved. Seating himself on the floor, settling himself for a long wait, Holmes explained. “You noticed how Willingham refused to speak until I had shaken hands with him?”
“Yes.” I recalled the incident.
“Apparently Mr. Willingham belongs to some manner of secret society,” Holmes explained. “A club fond of secret handshakes and the like. Having made a study of such things I decided to risk passing myself off as a member, thinking he would be more willing to discuss his situation with a fellow.”
“It worked,” I said.
“Too well I’m afraid,” Holmes confessed. “Having bluffed my way in, I couldn’t very well admit to having no idea what the man was talking about. Melvaris? The term is not one I am familiar with, although I suppose it may be the name of some rival society.”
“He spoke of their secrets,” I remembered.
“Yes,” Holmes replied dismissively. “What use is a secret society without secrets? No doubt they have a closet full of all manner of mystical refuse. It makes no difference. Whatever nonsense Willingham said our interview has confirmed two important points. Firstly, there is a definite, if secret, connection between the murdered men. Secondly, Willingham himself believes he will be attacked tonight. All we need do is wait for his attackers. Once we have taken them into custody I am confident they shall lead us to the answers we seek.”
“If we can take them into custody,” I amended Holmes’ statement. Holmes, ever confident, merely shrugged.
We settled in for a long night’s watch. Holmes sat by the door, his eyes never wavering from the mirror and its reflection of the hallway. I sat with my back against the wall shared with Willingham’s flat, occasionally pressing my ear against the barrier and listening. Willingham seemed to be spending his time pacing back and forth. The hours stretched on and we endured them silently.
Checking my watch, I noticed it was just after three o’clock. Pressing my ear against the wall again, I checked on Willingham once more. My hope was the man had ceased his pacing and retired for the night. Certainly by that point I was wishing the same for myself. Rather than the even tread of a man’s stride however, I heard the unmistakable sound of a deflected sword thrust. Hurried